The blooms in my garden have wilted away.
They’ve been waiting for the rains with not a single sway.
The blooms in my garden have all turned to dust.
Try as I do with all my care, I don’t gain their trust.
I sing to them and I talk to them, but to no avail,
I wish for the skies to open, to leave them a wet trail.
And then the magic happens, as the skies turn dark,
The clouds pour out their hearts until they are stark.
The blooms in my garden, yet again start to sway,
Their life support is here, fragrant happy and gay.
Watching them grow again, my heart swells with pride.
Not another disappointment that I’ll have to carry in my stride.
The blooms in my garden, are now red yellow and green,
As I gaze upon them lovingly, like a Peacock I too preen.
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